


Burning Bridges

by ThatOtherGirl



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, End of the World, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 07:38:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12476616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOtherGirl/pseuds/ThatOtherGirl
Summary: Darcy Lewis and the End of The World"Years ago, if anyone would have asked her what the number one key to survival was, Darcy would have given a completely different answer."





	Burning Bridges

**Author's Note:**

> I felt the need to write a post-apocalyptic fic and I had a burning desire to write a Darcy centered fic- and that’s how this little ditty was born. Also, I honestly have no idea where this came from…

The days seem longer now- wait no, scratch that. The days _are_ longer now- like by ungodly amounts of hours. Darcy can't really remember the science! mumbo jumbo around it, can't place the frantic findings of her favorite little scientist, but she does know that somewhere along the way that had been proven as fact.  

_Jane glanced at her with fond exasperation, momentarily pausing in her tinkering of the jumbled mass of metal passing as a machine. "Thor."_

_"No!" Wobbling precariously on her chair, Darcy tilted her head back to look at the other woman across the room. "That's cheating! We all know when he gets back you’re going to marry him and make sweet sweet thunder lovin in an actual fact palace of the gods- so he’s instantly disqualified. Unless the god of panties is on my list, then it's totes ok.”_

_The unimpressed look Darcy received was answer enough, but the astrophysicist felt the need to further clarify her stance on these new guidelines. “First of all, who made these rules? Cause I did not agree to them. And second, why is it ok for you to marry Thor and not me?”_

 

Years ago, when Darcy was in college, if anyone would have asked her what the number one key to survival was, she would have without a doubt said a gun. Protection first and foremost in her mind. She thinks back on those days she would watch crappy sci-fi movies with friends and laugh at the sheer stupidity of the characters, gloating how she would be a badass in those situations- just give her a weapon and she would be fine thank you very much.

Now though, hands shaking and looking down at the revolver in her tight grip, the temptation of nothingness calling out to her like the sweetest siren song, Darcy knows she was wrong.

Her younger self was too naive, didn’t understand the maddening hues of gray in this world, the pain of this life. She knows the truth all too well now.

Sanity.

Sanity is the key to survival.

Darcy just prays she has enough to make it through another day.

The crunch of footsteps behind her makes Darcy flinch, but she doesn’t attempt to hide the object in her desperate grasp. Dark eyes take in the telling scene and she knows he must see the ever present insanity creeping slowing towards her, swirling in her eyes.

Before all of this, Darcy thinks Bruce might have had a few kind words for her. He was always quiet, but willing to give a soft smile and some small piece of comfort. There’s nothing but an empty sheen to his eyes these days, and Darcy thinks if she looks close enough she can see the same slinking shadows reflected back at her.  

_“Pepper.”_

_“Ugh, what is it with you scientists and your oh so sappy and way too realistic choices.” Pointing an accusing finger at the man, Darcy narrowed her eyes and frowned. “You’re killing the spirit of the game!”_

_Tony laughed, one of the real and far too rare ones that only those he truly trusted would ever witness. “Then I guess that covers my Kill, doesn’t it?”_

_Darcy groaned and covered her face with one hand, the other flipping off the smirking billionaire._

_“Bruce, back me up here!” When all she received in response was a small smile and fond shake of the head, Darcy huffed._

 

The smell of burning flesh fills her nostrils and crowds her lungs, it’s been hours, but the odor lingers heavy in the air and Darcy wonders if it’s seeping into their skin, never to be washed away. She should be used to this oily pungent smell by now, after all this time of burning away _the_ _sickness_. All those _people_.  

Oh god, how she wants to walk away, stop staring at the harsh light of the fire, but she won’t- _can’t_ -until it dies out. She _owes_ them that much.

Honestly, she’s not surprised to find Bruce gone later that night, nothing but a shot gun and cup of tea where he had once been. She doesn’t know what took him so long in the first place.

His absence doesn’t cut as deep as the others, and she’s not sure if she’s just too used to this empty pit of despair in her chest or if she’s so tired that it hasn’t even registered yet.

Darcy can’t remember the last time she truly slept, every time she closes her eyes it’s the same. Jane; screaming, blood everywhere- screaming, always screaming, until there’s nothing but deafening silence. Darcy shakes her head, forcefully pushing it from her mind. She's on her own now, has been for a while now and she can’t afford to let herself become lost in those final days. If she does, she’s sure there won’t be a tomorrow.

Without a direction or purpose, Darcy begins to head north, unknowing and uncaring of where she’ll end up. She takes back roads and gives cities a wide berth in an attempt to avoid areas hit hardest by the sickness- and god does she hate that even in her mind she’s resorted to calling it that. Cause how much lamer can it get?

When the news broke in the early days, the media had all tried their various spins on naming it, hoping theirs would click and live in infamy, however somehow the masses had simply bypassed all the _stellar_ options and started referring to it as _the_ _sickness_. Apparently, the public can’t be counted on in times of crisis to keep a level head _and_ a sense of awesomeness.

For the record, Darcy's vote had been for _motherfucking_ _Pax_ , cause she’s not ashamed to let her inner geek out to play, while Jane's had been a convoluted mess of numbers and letters that all apparently stood for something. Before, when it was simply a thing that was totally going to pass soon- _cause come on, Jane, swine flu and mad cow disease, remember that useless hype? Besides, we have the damn Avengers and your brilliant self on this shit so this ain’t nothing, trust me_ \- there had been countless debates on the merits of which name suited best. Then it had been a way to forget for the briefest of moments that the world outside was turning to ash and no matter how hard they tried there were just no more solutions.

 

_“It’s our duty to fix this.” The words are firm, but Darcy can hear the anger and sorrow that thickly coat each one._

_Darcy holds back the desperate and bitter words trying to dissuade the spy from her mission. Because no, they already tried that, and somehow ended up with a brand new set of world ending fun. It reminds her of one of those stupid action movies where every solution creates another crisis until no one can trace their way back to the original problem that started the whole fucking mess to begin with. At this point, they’re piling disaster upon catastrophe upon destruction until there’s nothing but a giant ball of ruin with no chance of salvation._

_The bleak thoughts must be on full display across her face because Nat suddenly stops her long strides and turns to look directly into the younger girl’s face, her voice a mess of bitterness and pain that send new shocks of pain deep into Darcy’s chest. “Never did get the answer for Fuck, did you? This is it, the world Darcy, that was all of our fuck.”_

_The words sting, and Darcy flinches back, but she won’t argue because there’s no point in denying the truth. She doesn’t know how to respond to this side of Nat. As long as she’s known the Black Widow- and was privileged enough to become friends with the actual woman beneath the veneer, there has always been a tight rein of control. That ever present mask that shielded her inner most emotions is gone now and it chips away at the little fight Darcy had left. She doesn’t know which part of this whole mess broke the redhead, and honestly she doesn’t think she could bear to find out._

_Without another word, Natasha swipes a gentle finger across Darcy’s tear streaked cheeks and walks away without a backwards glance._

_Darcy wants to grab at the other woman, beg her not to leave, or at least take Darcy with her. Anything but walking away and leaving Darcy here, this place that smells like death and guilt._

_There’s an all too familiar ache in her chest that says if Natasha goes now, this will be the last they’ll ever see of each other. Darcy doesn’t think she can handle losing her too._

 

For the few short hours that pass as night, Darcy stares at the starless skies, wondering if Thor can see what's become of his beloved Midgard. Maybe he doesn't even know- on the coldest of nights, she sometimes prays for this small mercy for the gentle giant, that he isn’t trapped in another realm helplessly bearing witness to this nightmare- that maybe in a land so far away he’s resting easy every night with dreams of reuniting with his one and only love, blissfully ignorant of her tragic end.  

During the cruel and lonesome days though, Darcy sends out fervent wishes that he knows and is on his way. Anything to rescue her from this bleak existence.

Without conscious thought, Darcy realizes that she’s made a long and twisted journey to the Avengers less used compound in Oklahoma. It’s only as she starts registering the more familiar sites that it hits her. Something deep down compels her to finish the long trek, maybe a deep seated hope to see a place untainted by the outside chaos.  

Later, she’ll blame the swarm of memories overtaking her for why she doesn’t instantly notice the man sitting by the gate, shoulders slumped and head in hands. She hesitates for the briefest of seconds before she throws caution to the wind and approaches.

Besides, the metal arm is a clear give away and she vaguely recalls walking into a hushed conversation between the Avengers and overhearing the sordid tale of the great Bucky Barnes turned into the destructive Winter Soldier. She can still see the determination in Steve’s face as he learned of his friend’s fate and how he refused to give up.

A bleak thought crosses Darcy’s mind that if he is still the killing machine he was rumored to be at least it will be blessedly- _finally_ \- over.

The thought is pushed away in a moment as haunted blue eyes look up at her. Her hand gives an awkward wave and she points to the compound behind him. “No one’s there you know.”

His head gives a little jerky nod, his voice is gravelly and broken when he speaks. “Steve?”

The old Darcy would make a joke about her figure- and of course one about Steve’s- and how the two were not likely to be mistaken for one another. This Darcy simply shakes her head in the negative and bites her lip as visions of sweet, kind and trouble making Steve flash before her mind, bloody and broken with empty unseeing eyes; those he sought to protect left without any such saving grace now.

An anguished cry escapes the man and Darcy witnesses his whole body curl into itself.

Maybe she should have offered some type of sincere yet trite condolence about how the all American Hero had died doing what he loved, but flashes of Jane, bloody and screaming Jane flash through her mind and she knows there’s no easing the man's pain. Loss is loss and nothing can change that. Or bring them back.

She’s suddenly bone deep tired and she can’t hold back the tears escaping even if she tried. Without thinking over her actions, Darcy finds herself wrapping her arms around the stranger, taking comfort in the warmth he radiates.

Maybe it’s hours or just a few minutes, but the man- Bucky, starts rambling in broken disjointed thoughts. About how he was a monster in the civilized world he had been born into and how he awoke to find the world burning around him. How his captors fell victim to the same fate as the rest of the world and on a desperate whim had hoped their prized Soldat could somehow fix the mess. About when threads of his consciousness began to return he was disoriented but remembered one driving force- till the end of the line. He doesn’t explain what that means and Darcy doesn’t ask, but she knows it’s got to have something to do with his quest to find his lifelong friend. She doesn’t speak the entire time and for once finds comfort in delving into someone else’s despair and shoving hers to the side for one merciful moment.

When he’s done, throat raw and mouth dry, they go into the fortress Tony had painstakingly designed. Before they part ways for their separate rooms, his metal arm shoots out to stop her, eyes pleading and filled with an overwhelming despair. “How?”

Unblinking, Darcy stares at him, wondering what part he’s actually asking about- or rather unsure how to answer. If he’s asking about Steve, then that story starts in the same place as the rest of the world in this hellish nightmare.

She doesn't really remember much of hows and whys and isn't that just like her to totally miss out on the end of the world. Only she didn’t, not really, so maybe she missed out on the beginning of the end. Except no, that doesn’t work either.

If she thinks hard enough, she has vague memories of Jane scampering to and fro through the lab, but honestly, Darcy had been far too concerned with catching a glimpse of the sexy security guard passing by- cause damn did that man have a grade A ass.

 

_“My game, my rules!” With a put upon sigh, Darcy sat up and wandered over to the work bench her friend was currently bent over. “and cause Janie dear, there’s no chance in all of the realms of me and Thor being a thing, so it’s allowed.”_

_A grin tugged at the corners of Jane’s lips as she poked and prodded the machine. “I don’t know. Can I at least Fuck Thor?”_

_“Thought you already did that on the reg.”  A cackle escaped Darcy’s lips as she handed Jane a wrench. “Also, once again, no. You get five minutes to think on that one, then I demand an answer. If you want I’ll even let you pick Officer hotbody cause damn that man’s ass does things for me.”_

_Chuckling, Jane offered a quick thumbs up and returned to the doo dad she was so focused on before suddenly straightening up with an air of triumph. “I think this baby is ready for action!”_

_Darcy looked down at the homemade and pathetic looking heap of junk her boss was currently beaming down at. Not hiding the doubt from her voice, Darcy crossed her fingers. “If you say so. Here goes attempt 93.”_

_Shimmying to the switch at the end of the large machine, Darcy glanced over her shoulder as another thought occurred to her. “Hey, what about your Kill?”_

_A bang from the other side of the lab caught the astrophysicist’s attention and she cringed at the noises and inevitable bickering that followed. “I’ll get back to you on that. Now start it.”_

_Darcy laughed and flicked the switch._

 

They’ve been driving for miles now without a word between them, apparently his moment of baring his soul was not a common occurrence and neither was saying more than five words at a time. Which was fine, for the first hour or so, but Darcy can only take so much of her own twisted and turning thoughts before she’ll start screaming and never ever stop. Glancing up at the man beside her, Darcy sighs and turns down the radio.

“Okay, so the name of the game is Marry, Fuck, Kill.”

 


End file.
